The Assassination of Tom Marvolo Riddle
by seraph orion black
Summary: One simple phone call changes the war. One simple job for two hundred thousand pounds becomes the race for life and death. What happens when the hunter becomes the hunted? Who will win and who will pay the price?
1. Chapter 1

**THE ASSASSINATION OF TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE**

**BY**

**SERAPH ORION BLACK**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter story, characters, locations etc. It all belongs to JKR, Bloomsbury and whatnot. I do not make any profit from writing this fic.

**Author's Note: **This story is a rewrite of one of my old fics that has been on hiatus fornearly two years now. I just happened to read through it once again and got this weird urge to rewrite it. I'm still not sure whether it will turn out as a hit among the readers coz this fic won't have all the flashy magic tricks and gimmicks of the popular ones. But, I can promise to make this as interesting as possible. Please review and tell me if my story is good enough to continue.

**Summary: **It's amazing what a simple phone call can do. A grieving father calls a stranger in desperate hope to get justice that he had been denied by the magical world – a world that he doesn't belong in. What started as a simple job for two hundred thousand pounds, quickly changes into a race for life and death. What happens when the hunter becomes the hunted? What will happen when the hunter decides to fight back?

**Chapter 1**

**The Call**

**2****nd**** March 2000**

**Edinburgh, England.**

Edward Creevey was pacing in his living room looking at the phone every two minutes almost willing it to ring. For the thousandth time that evening, Edward re-thought his decision. Was it a wise one? _Of course not_, his mind would scoff every time, but what other option did he have?

Edward was a dairy-farm owner. He reared sheep and cow and sold the milk to the local supermarkets. Not the job for the aspiring young man he once was. As a young lad, Edward wanted to become a sailor and travel the world. But serving four years in the Royal Navy changed his mind. He craved for a steady home and a work that would not interfere with his family life. He never knew why he chose dairy-farming as a career but he never regretted it. When Edward told his father that he was going to be a dairy farmer, the old man had laughed.

'T'ain't the job fer a strapping young lad like ya, Eddie. Go to London. Find yerself a job there. You ain't gonna land a nice lass if you raise sheep. They want them city boys. Not a nice country lad', the old man had said. But Edward hadn't listened to him. He got his dairy farm, married a local girl and had two kids. It wasn't the perfect life. He wasn't as rich as some of his banker friends. He had to work from dawn till dusk and it was hard. But it was his life and he loved it. Things were perfect if you ask him. At least until the dreadful day.

The phone rang. The time was eight sharp.

Edward missed a step in his pacing and stumbled a little. He broke out in cold sweat as he realised that there was no going back at this stage and he was going to commit a crime. His hands trembled a little as he thought about what he was going to do. Was it immoral to seek justice through illegal means? Would it even work?

He picked up the receiver and stuttered, "He-Hello?"

There was silence for a couple of seconds which made Edward sweat a bit more before a voice answered, "Mr. Edward Creevey, I presume?"

"Y-yes, this is Edward. M-may I know who you are?"

"It would be better if you did not"

The voice on the phone was normal, _plain_. There was no hint of any emotion – humour, anger or threat. The voice itself was normal probably belonging to a twenty to thirty year old male. There was no accent – nothing to triangulate the identity of the man on the phone. It reminded Edward of those automatic answering machines.

"No, no. Just… checking"

"Good. Before we begin, Mr. Creevey, I am obliged to say that this call is untraceable. I advise you _not to try_"

Edward gulped trying frantically to control the panic gripping him.

The voice on the other end of the phone, however, continued without waiting for his response, "Second thing, I want you to be completely honest about the deal. This means, you will tell the complete truth to whatever question I ask."

"But what ab-"

The voice interrupted Edward, "Third, you will answer my questions and nothing more. You will not question me. Do we understand each other?"

"Y-yes", Edward replied shakily.

"Good. You will pay the money you agree to and you will follow each and every one of my instructions _to the word_. Please remember that I know exactly where you live and what you do. If I find that you are leading me to a trap, I will not hesitate to terminate this contract _as well as you_. Are we clear?"

"Yes", the reply this time was a little more confident.

"Good. Now, the target, if you will?"

"Yes, about that", Edward answered, "you see, when my eldest son Colin-"

"The target is your son, Colin?"

"Wh- No, NO, NO, NO! I just wanted to say a bit-"

"I asked you about the target, Mr. Creevey", the voice interrupted, "I don't care about your reasons. I am not exactly the justice league. I do the job for the money you pay; I do not require reasons."

"But you have to understand something about the… um… target. You see, my son is not normal. You may find this a bit hard to understand but on his eleventh birthday, Colin received a very strange letter._ Delivered by an owl, _if you would believe_._ It was an invitation to attend-"

"-Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. So your son is a wizard, ?"

"Y-yes, he is a-. Wait! You know about the magical world? Are you a wizard too?"

"That is irrelevant, Mr. Creevey. Is the target magical?"

"Yes. That god-damn sonnuva bitch is magical. A werewolf. A fucking werewolf killed my Colin. Fenrir Greyback is his name."

The voice at the other end was silent for a minute before it replied, "The target is not unfamiliar, Mr. Creevey. However, if the target is a magical, then the fee doubles. That is one of my rules. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes, YES!", Edward shouted, the pain from his son's gory death still fresh in his mind. "Those retarded magic-cops said it is impossible to capture the alpha-wolf or some bullshit. Said, he was very powerful and they did not have the resources to capture that asshole. As long as that son of a bitch dies, I will pay the money you ask."

"Good. Do you have any preference about how the job is to be done?"

"I don't understand. You mean-"

"How do you want him to die? Shot or choked to death, poisoning or having a fatal accident?"

"I- I don't care. As long as he dies, I don't care."

"Very well. You will pay me two hundred thousand pounds for the job. In cash. Half now, half after the job is done. You have one week to collect one hundred thousand pounds in used denominations. No new notes. Only random serial numbers. You will receive a phone call on friday about when & where to bring the money."

"Yes"

"And, Mr. Creevey, if you go to the authorities – _magical or mundane_ – about our little deal, your youngest Dennis will be joining his big brother in the after-life."

With that the phone call ended abruptly. It took Edward five minutes to realise that he had never given the stranger the name of his youngest son. In fact, he did not even remember mentioning he had another son. Edward scrambled to get the money ready. He did not want to know how much the man knew about him and his family. He just didn't want to antagonise someone who could _terminate_ what was remaining of his family.

**14****th**** March, 2000**

**Heathrow Airport, London**

Ronald Weasley, Auror Captain Grade C for the British Ministry of Magic was the in-charge for the auror detail attached to the busiest airport of the country. He had three aurors working undercover as airport personnel and four more as policemen at strategic points throughout the airport, monitoring for any illegal magical activity.

At the age of twenty, Ronald Weasley's promotion from Auror Cadet to Auror Captain was a surprise. He wasn't what you would call the most brilliant wizard. At the best, he was an average wizard in terms of magical prowess. In fact, in his youth, Ron, as he liked to be called, was a typical teenager - Lazy and immature with a scant disregard to rules and authority figures. His grades were average and he passed all his exams only due to the constant nagging of his best friend, Hermione Granger.

Ron had issues with his self-esteem. His eldest brother, William, was one of the most popular students of his time, head boy in his final year and worked as a curse-breaker for Gringotts. Charles was one of the best quidditch players at school and worked as a dragon handler. Percival was also head boy and had one of the best OWL and NEWT scores in recent history. Frederick and George might not be academically brilliant but they were brilliant pranksters and had their own jokeshop in Diagon Alley. Even his younger sister, Ginevra, the first Weasley girl in seven generations, was popular – top of her class and a fantastic quidditch player.

But Ronald Weasley had simply been another faceless student in the crowd. He had never been near the top of his class in his grades. He had never been popular. He had been the keeper for Gryffindor quidditch team but he felt that his team-mates were better skilled than him. He was just Ronald Weasley, brother of Fred and George.

It was a different thing when he entered the Auror academy. Frankly, everyone was surprised when Ron had made the sufficient grades to become an auror. For the first time in his life, Ron saw a purpose in his life. He would no longer be someone's shadow. He would be Ronald Weasley, the auror. He had worked hard, working even during his free hours to keep up to the expectations of the instructors at the academy. It was hard, since he had never worked that hard for anything in his life. At the academy, Ron felt that he had matured. He had taken responsibility for his own life and by becoming an auror, he was taking responsibility for the safety of his fellow countrymen.

After graduating from the academy, Ron along with a few of his mates had been posted at Heathrow airport. His team-mates had complained about the lack of action at the airport. The dark lord was active and his death eaters were wrecking havoc in the wizarding world. All of Ron's friends complained that they should be out there in the field, fighting the death eaters, not wasting their time, gawking at foreign muggles at an airport. Apart from the odd smugglers and drug dealers using magic to transport their goods, there wasn't anything that required their attention.

But, Ronald had never complained. As soon as he heard that he was going to be posted in the muggle world, he had gone straight to Hermione Granger to learn all he needed to know about the muggle way of life. He had spent all his free time learning to be a muggle policeman, even learned to use a muggle firearm. He had also taken lessons in muggle forensics and investigative procedures from a retired police-man. The two years he had spent patrolling the airport had left him with an excellent knowledge about the modus operandi of the criminals using the airport. It was one of the reasons he had been promoted ahead of his peers. His superiors knew that Ron might not be the hotshot of the auror force but he was a reliable officer who got the job done.

Ron walked slowly behind the desks of the immigration officers. This was his post. Patrol near the immigration counters was his personal responsibility. Ron liked to study the passengers as their papers were verified by the immigration officers. It gave him an excellent chance to scope out any potential criminal. There were monitors to alert whenever magic – active or passive was used, but he liked to hone his observation skills.

The counters had been busy for a while. The flight from Copenhagen which had landed five minutes ago was the last before the immigration officers changed shift. This was the time when something interesting usually happened. But, today seemed to be a dull day. Nothing interesting. Finding nothing to do, Ron decided to observe the last counter where a young man was smiling widely. _Nothing wrong_, Ron thought amusedly, _Janine is a beautiful woman, after all_.

The passenger was in his twenties about five feet eight inches tall and a slim build. He had slick blond hair which reminded Ron of his childhood rival Draco Malfoy. He wore thin wire-framed glasses and had a trim moustache which gave him a plain appearance which no one would give a second glance.

"What is the purpose of your visit, Mr… Arne Oluffsen?" he heard Janine ask.

"I visiting my cousin and see big ben", the man spoke in a broken English with a heavy Danish accent. A covert glance at the sensor built into his sleeve showed that the man was not carrying a wand or any other enchanted items. The scanner had already showed that the man's luggage only had his toiletries and clothes. _A tourist, _Ron smiled to himself and moved onto the next counter where a fat Englishman was arguing with the authorities.

Arne Oluffsen got his passport stamped, collected his luggage and walked out of the airport. He hailed a cab and gave the driver his hotel's address and settled down to take a nap.

When he sensed the taxi come to a stop, he opened his eyes and found that they were in front of a non-descript hotel in Soho. After paying the taxi, Arne looked around. It was three in the afternoon and the street was not busy at this time. Carrying his bag, he strode into the small hotel. The receptionist looked up at the sound of the approaching footfall and smiled as he recognised one of the hotel's regular customer and big-tipper.

"Welcome to the Duke, Mr. Newman. It's been a long time."

"It has been, Jeff, it certainly has been", the man who was only minutes ago known as Arne Oluffsen replied with an impeccable British accent. "I trust my room is ready?"

"It is, Mr. Newman. And a package arrived for you a couple of hours ago. I had it placed in your room. We normally don't allow unauthorised packages without inspecting it sir, but the manager has instructed to make you a special case. May I ask what is in the package, Sir? It is for our records.

"A collection of rare paintings, Jeff. Do not worry, I am not bringing any stolen goods to your hotel. Your manager knows this. He can vouch for me or you can take look if you want."

"I wasn't implying anything like that, Mr. Newman. I was just asking as per the regulations. Would you need anything else, sir?"

"Couple of beers, Guinness, if you've got it."

"Certainly, Mr. Newman, I shall send it straight to your room at once. If you give me a moment, I will get someone to bring your bag upstairs."

"No need, Jeff. I can handle it myself. It's 201, right?"

"It is, sir"

After registering in the name of Robert Newman and receiving his key, the man grabbed his bag and walked up to his room. When he got to room 201, he made a study of his surroundings. After locating the fire-escape, the man catalogued every other exit including the service elevator. He entered the room and immediately locked it behind him. He walked up to the windows and drew the shades close to make sure no one could see inside his room. Only after making sure that he was perfectly secure, the man let out a sigh of relief.

The only thing out of place in the room was a big package that the receptionist had mentioned. It was wrapped in brown paper. Ripping open the paper, Arne, now known as Robert, found a cardboard box. Opening the cardboard box, he found a black case. Robert opened the case to find a bunch of disassembled parts. Parts that, once assembled, would become his Armalite rifle. Robert switched on the television and turned the volume up. After making sure that the sound of the television would mask any noise he would make, Robert started to assemble the rifle with an expertise born out of experience. Once he was satisfied that the rifle was in its usual pristine condition, Robert dismantled it and returned it to its case.

After stowing the case under his bed, Robert unpacked his bag, took out a bag of toiletries and went in to the bathroom. After half an hour, Robert came out of the bathroom looking completely different from what he used to look like. He had dyed his blond hair into brown and replaced his contact lens, so that his eyes which were once brown were now blue. He had also shaved his moustache. He took off his glasses and looked at his reflection in the mirror.

The change in his appearance was drastic. No one would identify that the man in front of them, Robert Newman, was Arne Oluffsen who had arrived from Copenhagen that morning. Arne Oluffsen was a Danish pastry chef who was visiting his cousin. But Robert Newman was an investment banker from Cardiff who was here to inspect a factory he was going to invest. But no one would ever know what his true business ever was.

Robert searched the room and found a key taped to the bottom of the coffee table, left there by one of the night-clerks. He picked up the key and walked out of the room. Walking up to Room 207, Robert looked around and saw that the hallway was deserted. Making sure that there were no security cameras in the hallway, Robert used the key to open the room and slipped into the room. The room which according to the registry at the reception was rented to a Mr. Oluffsen of Copenhagen. Robert was satisfied. He was staying at the same hotel under two different names. That would make escaping a whole lot easier if the police arrived. It would also help in avoiding awkward questions about the change in his appearance.

Just to make his alibi stronger, Robert called room service and ordered a bottle of brandy and a couple of sandwiches. When the waiter arrived with his order, Robert made a show of struggling with his money and let the man get a good look of him.

After the man left, Robert slipped back to his old room 201 and ordered an elaborate dinner with a bottle of champagne, happy to have established a couple of false identities that would buy him time to get the job done and get out before anyone got any wiser.

The next morning, he would start looking for Fenrir Greyback.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Assassination of Tom Marvolo Riddle**

**By**

**Seraph Orion Black**

**Disclaimer: **All Harry Potter stories, characters, plots and wizarding world belong to JKR, Bloomsbury etc. I do NOT own any and I do no profit from writing this fanfic.

**Author's Note: **This story is completely AU. It is NOT canon-compliant with any of the books. This story starts in the year 2000. So, obviously, this is a post-Hogwarts era fic. The start of the story may seem slow but I promise to deliver some action soon.

The only thing that you will have to keep in mind while reading this fic is that Arne Oluffsen, Robert Newman and Jason Higgs are all the same. They are the false identities the mercenary is using. So, if I refer to someone as Robert, Arne or Jason, then I am referring to the killer.

**Chapter 2**

**The Hit**

**March 15****th**** 2000**

The first rays of the dawn glinted off the silver Mercedes as it sped through the light traffic of London suburb. The sole occupant of the car, the driver, was dressed for the day in an impeccable grey pinstriped suit, looking fresh as if he had been up for several hours. The man was plain looking –about five feet eight inches tall, slim with a clean shaven face. His brown hair was combed back and his intense brown eyes scanned the road with practised ease.

Robert Newman, alias Arne Oluffsen, had decided not to waste any sunlight and started off as early as possible. He had requested a wakeup call for five thirty a.m. and checked out of the hotel an hour later. Of course, he checked out of the hotel under the name, Arne Oluffsen, who according to their computer, had been staying in the room 207 for the past two days. The receptionist, Jeff, had been suspicious since he didn't actually remember seeing Arne.

Robert had then hailed a taxi to Heathrow airport giving the hotel employees the impression that he was leaving the country. However, once he had paid the taxi at Heathrow, Robert walked swiftly towards the office of the car-hire firm. An hour later, he had finished all the necessary paperwork and driving off in the silver Mercedes which was again hired under the name Arne. Robert chuckled to himself – at this rate, he was going to confuse himself.

Robert was confident that he had pulled it off. All records pointed to an Arne Oluffsen who had apparently entered the country the previous day, checked out of the hotel in the morning and hired a car afterwards. He would have to ditch that identity soon. It was not wise to use a false identity for so long.

Robert's destination was Norfolk, East Anglia. Fenrir Greyback's cottage was in the marshes outsides Norfolk, a seaward town. Robert chuckled to himself. It was amusing to him. The British aurors had been hunting Greyback for more than two decades. There was a lot of speculation on where his lair was. Yet, Robert had obtained that information is slightly less than an hour. He had bought the information from a werewolf in Brussels for a mere twenty galleons.

AoTMR AoTMR AoTMR AoTMR AoTMR AoTMR AoTMR

**Greyback's Lair**

**March 15, 2000**

**1700 hours**

Fenrir Greyback walked out of his cottage to smoke a cigar. It had been a tiring day for him. Last night was the full moon and he had been out all night doing what he did best – hunting. He had chosen well for his transformation. Greyback still remembered the horrified screams of the teenage girl as he ripped her to shreds in his wolf-form. The memory of her screams brought a smile to his face.

Werewolves normally didn't have a memory of their time as the wolf, if they didn't take the wolfsbane potion. But, Greyback was special. He was different from the other werewolves. He had merged with his wolf. While some werewolves liked to keep their two forms separately, Greyback willingly merged the conscious of the wolf with his human mind. He was one of a kind, truly a monster to be feared. He was so merged with the wolf's mind that he had some control over what the wolf did. But he never made an effort to rein in the animal within him. He revelled in the power his wolf-form gave him. It made him feel invincible. He enjoyed the hunt as much as the wolf within him did.

Needless to say, he was shell-shocked when he felt something rip into the soft flesh of his abdomen – something sharp and metallic and his whole world exploded into pain. However, Greyback was no stranger to pain. It had been a painful path to merge with the wolf and he was so well acquainted with agony that he still had the wits about him to drop to the floor and try to crawl back into the cottage.

The next shot, however, made the escape impossible. The Armalite AR-10 was an excellent rifle with nearly a kilometre-long range. But at seven hundred and fifty metres, it was nearly perfect for someone with experience in handling such a weapon. Robert's first aim had been at the werewolf's heart but he had miscalculated slightly and the bullet had penetrated Greyback's abdomen. Robert was annoyed with himself for not making it a perfect shot but his experience paid off as he immediately bolted the weapon and took aim – this time going for the head.

Robert took a second to hold his aim. The victim was trying to crawl back into the cottage. He knew that if Greyback made it back into the cottage, it would be impossible to get a chance like this again. Because he would have to get into the cottage to finish the job and that was impossible with the wards around the place. Robert had been camping out at this spot - this secluded spot about half-a-mile from the road - from mid-day and he was not ready to spend any more time waiting for his target to appear.

Robert held his breath and aimed for Greyback's head. He made small adjustments for the wind that was blowing and aligned the crosshair of the scope with the back of Greyback's skull. When he was satisfied that his aim was steady, Robert squeezed the trigger again. The shot was perfectly on target. The explosive bullet's hollow-point entered the back of Greyback's head. The soft lead of the bullet quickly mushroomed and took most of the Werewolf's face with it as it exited through the front. The side-wall of the cottage was splattered with the blood and brains of the most feared werewolf of Britain.

'Not a bad job for two hundred thousand pounds', Robert thought with a small smile.

The smile quickly vanished as he noticed out of the corner of his eyes, the door of the cottage swing open and close, seemingly of its own accord. Robert frowned. Doors didn't open and close for no reason - even in the wizarding world.

Robert resisted the urge to smack himself. Wizards can turn invisible with spells after all.

With an expertise born out of vast experience, Robert's sharp eyes scanned the yard around the cottage through his scope looking for any disillusioned intruder. It wasn't wise to leave a job half done. There should be no witnesses or his seemingly perfect record as a professional hit man would be tarnished.

Robert noticed a wave of magic bursting from near the front door of the cottage. Noticing that he did not have enough time, Robert took a wild aim and took a shot at the approximate centre of the origin of the spell. Unfortunately, his shot was a miss and a bucket exploded, splattering water everywhere.

However, Robert's missed shot set off the disillusioned wizard. When he initially heard a loud noise, he had been sitting inside the cottage, nursing a drink. He had disillusioned himself and went outside to investigate. The sight of Greyback with his brain splattered all over the wall had shocked him to the core. Thinking that they were under attack by similarly disillusioned wizards, he had cast the '_**homenum revelio**_', the charm to reveal any hidden human. However, the charm only had a range of fifty metres and came up negative. A couple of seconds after he had cast the spell, the bucket of water next to him exploded in the same mysterious manner as Greyback's skull. This sent him into panic mode as he started casting spells left, right and centre.

Robert swore when he saw the disillusioned wizard start casting spells randomly. He swore viciously when he noticed that half of them were the unforgivables. Robert was not afraid that he would get hit. He was still a good seven hundred and fifty metres from the target and the spells only had a range of three hundred feet, before it fizzled out. No, the reason he was concerned was that the man was casting a large number of unforgivables.

The magnitude of such dark magic would be detected by the British Ministry of Magic. Now, he had only a few minutes to finish the job and get out before the place was swarmed by the aurors. That didn't leave him any time to clean up. Robert hated that. He preferred to '_clean up_' after every job to make sure he didn't leave any evidence. Now, he had to leave without doing so and would have to hope that he wouldn't be identified. Robert hated that feeling.

Robert reloaded his weapon and shot the ground near where he saw a small disturbance. The resulting explosion splattered a lot of mud into the air and fortunately for Robert, the disillusioned wizard was hit by it. Reacting quickly, Robert shot him three times – first in his shoulder making him inadvertently drop his disillusionment, the second right through his heart ending his life and the third one in his abdomen to make sure he was dead.

Robert waited for five minutes. The marshes were deserted and there was complete silence. When he was sure that there was no one else in the area, he opened his back-pack and took out his camera. It was fitted with an expensive lens for higher magnification with good clarity. He took a few photographs of Greyback and a few headshots of the other dead person.

Ten minutes later, a silver Mercedes was speeding on its way back to London.

**March 16, 2000**

Robert made a stop in a small village inn the previous night, preferring to rest before he resumed his journey back to London. In the middle of the night, wearing a mask on his face, he snuck out of his room, sneaking through the various alleys of the village until he came across the house at the end of the street. Robert ghosted to the back-door and knocked on the east-side second window of the ground floor in a pre-arranged pattern. After a minute of waiting, the backdoor opened and a hand signalled Robert to be quick. Robert placed the bag containing his weapon just inside the door and ghosted away.

The next morning, he was out of bed and on the road as early as possible. He decided that he had been using the identities – Robert Newman and Arne Oluffsen in too many places. It was time to change his identity once again.

After returning the car, Robert visited a saloon and dyed his hair into jet-black. Ducking into a toilet, he removed the colored contact-lenses from his eyes and looked into the mirror. He could see his own vibrant green eyes staring back at him. Smiling to himself, 'Robert' dropped the lenses into the garbage can. He soon disposed his bag and the identity papers of Arne and Robert and returned to his back-up identity – Jason Higgs.

**AoTMR AoTMR AoTMR AoTMR AoTMR AoTMR AoTMR**

Jason used the pay-phone to call his contact back in Europe. There was no way anyone would recognise Jason Higgs as Robert Newman. While Robert Newman was a banker in his fancy suit, Jason Higgs was a university student in his Jeans and crumpled shirt.

The phone rang.

"Yes?" the voice at the other end answered.

"The job is complete."

"Yes, I know. But it was not a clean job, was it?"

Jason frowned. He knew that he didn't leave any evidence behind AND he had left long before any auror had arrived on the scene. Perhaps it was about the other man that had been with Greyback.

"The job was clean. There was an unexpected intrusion but that has been dealt with."

The voice at the other end chuckled. "That's not what I'm talking about. Your position was compromised. The police missed you only by a few minutes. You were lucky you were not detained."

Jason's frown deepened. "When and where?"

"At your hotel in London, a few minutes after you left. Someone alerted the Scotland Yard."

"That's impossible. Very few people knew about me and my arrival in Britain. Not even my client knows those details. There is no chance that the police were there for me specifically unless-"

"-someone we trusted has decided to turn traitor. Investigate the issue and find what the police know about us. Do not return until you have resolved this issue."

Jason swore inwardly. Someone had snitched on him. That meant that the police can track him to the car-hire firm, if they found the taxi driver who had driven him to the airport. Using the hired car's GPS, they could _probably_ trace where he went and _maybe _by chance, connect Robert/Arne to the murder of Greyback and his friend.

Robert Newman and Arne Oluffsen were now obsolete. There was no way to connect them to Jason Higgs. So, he was safe, at least for the moment. But he was seething inside. He wanted to know who had gone to the police and endangered him. And more importantly, what the police knew about him.

Hanging up the phone abruptly, Jason walked away swiftly. He would have to cancel his flight to Oslo. He intended to find out what the authorities knew about him.

**March 16, 2000**

**Headmaster's Office**

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

It was nine pm and Albus Dumbledore was at his desk perusing a document when he felt the wards around his office door alerted him about visitors.

"Come in, Alastor, Kingsley, Nymphadora", he called out before the knock on his door was heard.

The door opened to admit a trio of aurors. Dumbledore wasn't expecting any visitors that night – certainly not aurors, even if they were members of his Order of the Phoenix. Alastor Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks were all still in their auror uniform robes.

"Please take a seat, I shall be with you in a moment", Dumbledore offered absently waving his hand at the chairs in front of his desk, not even looking up from the document that was still commanding a majority of his attention. After he was done reading the document, Dumbledore looked at the visitors who were all fidgeting in their seats like they were bursting with some excitable information.

"Sherbet Lemon?" Dumbledore offered to his visitors gesturing towards the candy dish sitting at his desk. When he realised that no one was going to accept the offered sweet, Dumbledore shrugged and popped one into his mouth. Leaning back in his seat, he stretched, feeling the bones in his back popping as he savoured the tangy taste of the candy – his eyes twinkling in amusement at the unease that the trio of aurors were in.

The three aurors tried not to fidget at the presence of the ancient wizard. Dressed in magnificent magenta robes with white stars, Dumbledore in his waist long white beard was a sight to behold. Yet the calm countenance of the man only bolstered the sheer presence of the man as the most powerful wizard alive in the world. The room they were in didn't make things easy. All three of them had been in this room as a student when Dumbledore had been a teacher. Even Moody had been a student when Dumbledore joined the Hogwarts faculty as a transfiguration professor. Every time they were in the room, it made them feel inadequate. Many famous people had occupied this office, including the founders of Hogwarts and the man in front of them would, one day, be an even bigger legend.

"You look like you have some interesting information."

"Fenrir Greyback is dead!" Tonks blurted out, unable to contain herself, before her more experienced partners could open their mouths. Kingsley and Moody glared at her - both of them had wanted to break the news to Dumbledore themselves.

Dumbledore didn't reply immediately. He leaned back in his chair and took a few seconds to contemplate the news.

"That's interesting news. May I enquire when this incident happened?"

Tonks and Shacklebolt were surprised at the lack of shock in the old man's face. Moody, however, snorted. Having worked with Dumbledore long enough, Moody knew that he wouldn't be surprised.

"The auror office detected a large usage of unforgivables outside Norfolk, East Anglia at about five pm, yesterday. A team was dispatched within thirty minutes. The team found a heavily warded cabin in the marshes. Took the curse-breaking team six hours to bring down the wards. We found Greyback with his brains splattered all over the wall. We had to do a blood test to get the identification. His face had been completely damaged."

"You had to break-in? The wards were not disturbed?" Dumbledore questioned.

"Aye, that's the odd thing. The wards weren't disturbed at all. We wondered how the killer had gotten Greyback when Terrence Boot, a muggleborn auror identified the method of killing. Greyback hadn't been killed using magic. He was shot."

"Shot? Shot using a muggle gun?" Tonks and Shacklebolt exchanged a smile at the first hint of surprise from Dumbledore. The man was a true master of his emotions and to get a hint of surprise from him was big.

"Yes. One shot destroyed his right lung and the other blew his brains. The wards around the house extend to about fifty metre radius and we thought the killer might have stood outside the wards and shot. We couldn't find anything about who the killer was; there was no magic cast by the killer. So, we asked for help from the muggle police. They sent a couple of their best detectives and a full forensic team. They concluded that Greyback had been shot with an explosive bullet. They also found the spot from where the shot was fired. It was done from over seven hundred and fifty metres away."

"Seven hundred and fifty _metres_?"

"Yes. I was amazed too. We looked for any tracks that the killer had left but we couldn't find anything conclusive – no substantial footmarks, no discarded cigarette buds, no trash that we can use to identify the killer. There were some marks that were left by a man in haste but nothing that can be used. Police and aurors are combing the area, looking for the killer. But I'm pretty sure that he is long gone."

"What do we know the killer so far, Alastor?"

"The police detectives say that the killer is a professional, judging by the way he chose his spot. At five in the evening when the shot was fired, the killer had positioned himself so that Greyback had to look into the sun to spot him. The forensics say that the killer had picked his shots well. Tried to aim for his heart and then the base of the skull so that his target would die instantly. And lastly, the killer is not a muggle. The cabin had muggle repelling charms around it – muggles wouldn't have been able to see the cabin. Even if the charms weren't strong enough – which they were - No muggle would have gotten past the ward long enough to aim for Greyback and kill him."

"So, we have a possible wizard who is also a professional killer. Possibly a mercenary, who is skilled in the use of muggle weaponry. Quite possibly, he had a grudge against Greyback or he was paid by somebody who had. Too bad, we can't investigate from that angle. A lot of people seem to have something against him."

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, absent-mindedly summoning a house-elf and asked for a pot of tea for his visitors. While his guests were sipping their tea, Dumbledore gazed into the flames licking away at the fireplace, hoping to gleam some more information from the news he had just received.

Suddenly he sat up, "Alastor, you said that Greyback was found dead over twenty-four hours ago. How come none of this has made it to the Daily Prophet? The identification process should have been finished and there still could have been time for a front page story."

The three aurors looked at each other uneasily. Shacklebolt cleared his throat and answered. "Actually, Minister Scrimgeour has ordered a complete silence on the matter. The news of Greyback's death will not be made public. At least not until the Ministry has prepared an alternate story developed."

"Am I missing a piece of the puzzle? Is there something else you have to tell me?" Dumbledore asked with a frown. He sensed something that the aurors were not telling him.

Moody answered, "Aye. Things are about to get even more complicated."

"How ever so?"

"Well, Greyback wasn't the only one we found in the house. We found Thicknesse near the front door - dead. He had been shot three times – shoulder, chest and stomach."

Dumbledore's eyebrows went up, giving him an almost comical look.

"Pius Thicknesse? The head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

"Yes", Shacklebolt replied with a grunt, "We were pretty flummoxed ourselves. We even did the full battery of identification tests on him. We can't afford a ministry scandal at this level – not after the whole Barty Crouch Jr. incident. It's him."

"What was Thicknesse doing there? Was he a part of this assassination?"

Tonks snorted "I'm sure the dark mark on his arm can answer a few of our doubts"

Dumbledore did a double-take. "Pius Thicknesse was a death eater?"

Moody nodded. "I am as shocked as you are. I've known Thicknesse for more than thirty years and I would have never estimated him to be death eater material. I always thought Pius was against what the death eaters stood for. It shows us what we are up against. Our enemies are living amongst us and we don't know about them."

"Yes" Dumbledore reminisced, stroking his long beard, "I still remember Pius Thicknesse as the Ravenclaw prefect who used to tutor struggling younger students irrespective of their house. He was a model student and I wholeheartedly supported his growth within the Ministry. Alas, greed has a way of corrupting those who are not strong enough to resist it. I take it that his role as a mole in the Ministry is investigated?"

"Yes, it is. No doubt how we were losing the war and the lives of so many aurors. Merlin, I can't believe we didn't spot him first. He would have a hand in sabotaging the auror raids." answered Moody.

Shacklebolt continued, "Our guess, at this time, is that the killer was not aware of Thicknesse's presence in the cabin. Thicknesse has managed to avoid a few shots before he was hit. The shots were not spot-on, as the forensic people call it. The shots for Greyback were perfectly on target but Thicknesse was hit all over the place and he actually died due to the loss of blood. Tests on his wand proved that the unforgivables were cast by him but they didn't hit anyone."

Dumbledore sat back in his chair. "How is Minister Scrimgeour taking all this?"

"He is shocked – scandalised. I'm sure you can guess. One of his trusted lieutenants was a death eater." Shacklebolt replied, "He was in denial for about an hour. But he recovered. I'll admit that I am not a big fan of him but Scrimgeour has impressed me in the last twenty four hours than anyone other Minister has ever done. After he came out of his shock, he ordered a complete silence about the death of Greyback and Thicknesse until we have uncovered who else is involved. A special team of hand-picked aurors will be randomly questioning the important authority figures in the Ministry regarding their allegiance. He even volunteered to be the first one to be questioned and has been cleared."

Dumbledore thought for a minute before a small smile appeared on his face. So, that's why the aurors were still in their uniforms. He was still the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, after all.

"Aurors Moody, Shacklebolt, Tonks, I am willing to co-operate fully and willingly with the questioning under the Veritaserum. Shall we do this here and now or do you need me to come to the Ministry itself?"


	3. Chapter 3

**The Assassination of Tom Marvolo Riddle**

**By**

**Seraph Orion Black**

**Disclaimer: **All Harry Potter stories, characters, plots and wizarding world belong to JKR, Bloomsbury etc. I do NOT own any and I do not profit from writing this fanfic.

**Author's Note: **For all those who have read the previous chapters, the story may seem vague and nothing like a Harry Potter fanfiction. This is my idea of a completely different kind of fanfic experience. As a kid, I was an avid spy-novel reader. This fic is my imagination of the fusion of such a novel and Harry Potter. Please review.

**Chapter 3**

**The Assignment**

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

**March 19****th**** 2000**

Ronald Weasley took a deep breath before knocking on the ornate doors of the headmaster's office. Even though, he hadn't been a student here for nearly two years, Ron couldn't help but feel nervous at being summoned to the office of the Headmaster of Hogwarts. After all, Albus Dumbledore was the greatest and the most powerful wizard in the world. Not to mention a political powerhouse in Britain. And Ronald Weasley hadn't been a noteworthy student to warrant frequent trips to the Headmaster's office during his time at Hogwarts.

"Enter"

The voice answering his knock shook him out of his stupor. Ron opened the door and entered the room with apprehension. The office was intimidating. It wasn't the grandeur of the room like in some of the French château-s Hermione had dragged him to nor did it have the morbid décor of the Azkaban Warden office.

The room itself was simple – round with windows facing all directions showing that the room was at the top of a tower. The portraits of the previous headmasters and headmistresses of the school clustered the walls giving it a slightly unpleasant look. There were strange silver instruments in a rickety table puffing smoke and whistling. The glass cabinets at the far walls were closed but Ron could still see the sorting hat, Gryffindor's sword and other relics telling stories of School's glorious history. There was also the strange stone basin that Hermione had once called the pensieve.

Then there were the books. When talking about Albus Dumbledore, people would often reminisce about his legendary duel with the dark wizard Grindelwald or how he was the only one He-who-must-not-be-named ever feared. People often forgot that Albus Dumbledore is also an academic and one of the best magical theorists still alive. His massive and impressive collection of books would serve as a reminder to people entering his office that Albus Dumbledore knew more about magic than most people alive.

And at the centre of the room was a large ornate table, where the Headmaster sat patiently waiting for him to get used to his office.

There was only one word to describe Albus Dumbledore. Magnificent. Right from the flamboyant Burgundy robes to the long white beard to the twinkling blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles, Dumbledore looked every bit eccentric as his reputation.

"Please have a seat, Mr. Weasley. Sherbet Lemon?" Dumbledore offered cordially.

Ron took a seat but politely refused the sweet though he could see Dumbledore's eyes lose a bit of the twinkle at his refusal of the sweet.

"How is your work coming along, Mr. Weasley? Arthur tells me that you have been promoted to Auror Captain."

"Yes, sir", Ron replied nervously, "I was promoted to Grade C Auror Captain two months ago. I am currently in-charge of surveillance at Heathrow Airport, London. We monitor unusual magical activity in the airport and unauthorised wizard entry into Britain."

"Really? That is impressive. Well done."

Ron blushed slightly but still wondered why he was summoned here of all the places. It sure wasn't to discuss his career which had still not taken off to the spectacular heights he had imagined.

Dumbledore leaned on the desk and steepled his fingers in front of his face while looking at him as if judging him.

"Do you know why you are here, Mr. Weasley?"

"No, Professor"

Dumbledore nodded his head distractedly. "Do you know about Fenrir Greyback's death, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron nodded confidently. Everyone knew about that. It was the hottest news in wizarding Britain. "Yes, sir. I read it from the Prophet and also heard about it from the other aurors. There was a secret raid based on a tip-off about Greyback's location and auror teams fought and killed him when he attempted to resist arrest. The raid itself is popular since it is the first real successful in the last one and a half years." Ron hesitated for a moment. "There are also rumors in the Auror offices that the real objective of the raid was not to arrest Greyback but… but to _kill _him"

Dumbledore smiled at the young man's reply. That had been the story given to the Daily Prophet. In fact several rumors had been initiated by the Minister's office itself to lend credibility to the story. Only high level aurors and top ministry officials knew the full story. A large scale obliviation had seen to it.

Dumbledore silently reached into the topmost drawer of his table and extracted a folder. He handed the folder to the young man.

"I know this may be confusing to hear, Mr. Weasley, but Fenrir Greyback was not killed in an auror raid. In fact, we do not know exactly who killed Greyback. The story about the raid published in the Daily Prophet is a fake fabricated by Minister Scrimgeour and myself."

Ron was stunned for a moment. He did not want to believe it. The most famous news in the last couple of years was a sham! Had it been anyone else saying it, he would have left then and there. But this was Albus Dumbledore and he did not joke in these circumstances. If Dumbledore said Greyback didn't die in a raid, then he did not die in a raid. Ron's well trained auror senses immediately started to imagine who could've done it and why.

Dumbledore smiled as the young man held his composure. He would do nicely.

"The full report is in the folder I just handed to you. You can read it at your leisure but I don't think I need to stress the importance of keeping it a secret. There could be several severe ramifications if the folder fell in the wrong hands."

Ron nodded immediately. He instantly knew that whatever Dumbledore wanted from him this evening was very important judging by the material in his hands.

"The brief story is that the auror office received an alert about a large number of unforgivables cast on the 15th of March around five in the evening. A small task force was dispatched within twenty minutes to investigate. They found Greyback dead."

Ron remembered the protocols of briefing and didn't waste any time asking, "Cause of death, sir?"

"He was executed. No magic, shot to death"

Ron's head snapped up so fast that his neck cricked. "Shot?", he asked incredulously.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley, shot. Greyback was killed by a gun-shot to his head. The aurors wasted in no time contacting the muggle police authorities since our aurors do not have any expertise when it comes to muggle weaponry."

Ron nodded as he discreetly fingered the Beretta pistol in his shoulder holster – his backup weapon.

"The muggle detectives and forensics have found that the shot was fired from a rifle about six hundred to eight hundred metres away from the target. We found a spot that could possibly be the place where the gunman would have taken his shot from. It was done by a professional; that much is clear. We have not recovered anything useful to track the killer."

Ron nodded but asked, "No offense, sir, but why is this so important? Sure, it's strange that someone used a rifle to kill Greyback. Shouldn't we just thank whoever did that and move on to more important things, like rounding up the rest of the death eaters?"

Dumbledore smiled a bit indulgently at the burst of impatience from the young man but continued on. "It's not Greyback's death that has us interested, Mr. Weasley but the second victim of the gunman."

"There was a second victim?"

Dumbledore nodded his head tiredly. "Pius Thicknesse"

There was silence for a minute before Ron asked in what seemed to be a forced calm tone, "Pius Thicknesse? As in the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? My Boss?"

Albus nodded his head sadly. "Yes. However, there was a slight complication in this matter. There was a dark mark in Thicknesse's left arm. He was a death eater."

Ronald Weasley was very glad that he was sitting down. THAT was news to him. He had seen Thicknesse occasionally while visiting the auror office to file his bi-weekly reports. The heavy set man with thick wavy hair who had been his boss was an imposing personality. To think that he and the rest of the aurors had been working for a death eater was disturbing. The position of the Head of the DMLE was a powerful one falling short of just the Minister and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. A death eater in that position would have given the dark side a huge advantage. Now, Ron understood the real reason for the failure of many auror raids and deaths of his fellow aurors.

Finally, Ron replied, "I can understand why you wanted Thicknesse's death to be a secret. News of such an infiltration would have induced massive panic, but why cover up about Greyback's cause of death?"

Dumbledore smiled. While Ronald may not have known, he had kept a close watch on each and every single student of his. Three years ago, Ronald Weasley would have made immature comments or shown the infamous Weasley temper. Now, he was attempting to approach the situation in hand with wit and knowledge. Maturity and good old Hogwarts education had indeed done wonders for the young man, though a huge part of the credit belonged to one Hermione Granger.

"Minister Scrimgeour has put together a team of his most trusted aurors to secretly interrogate and filter all death eaters and their sympathisers from the Ministry. Senior Aurors Moody and Shacklebolt along with Auror Tonks are interrogating all Ministry employees as we speak. In fact, we have arrested three people so far for being death eater sympathisers."

Ron wondered where Dumbledore was going with his explanation. Every piece of information Dumbledore had given him were highly confidential.

"BUT, both Minister Scrimgeour and I are concerned that Lord Voldemort is well aware of everything that goes on in the Ministry. After all both Rufus and I trusted Pius Thicknesse and we are not sure who else he has planted in our midst. Hence, Rufus and I have come to the conclusion that Lord Voldemort is aware that Aurors Moody, Shacklebolt and Tonks are scanning the Ministry for traitors and has taken necessary steps to protect his spies in the Ministry. We do not expect any significant result from the inter-Ministry interrogation."

Dumbledore leaned back in his seat and sighed. "Rufus believes and I am beginning to agree that whoever killed Greyback and Thicknesse knows something that might be of vital importance to us."

Ron leaned forward very much interested by what he was hearing. "Like what, sir?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Like how he knew where to find Greyback when we have been searching for his lair for the past twenty five years. That information couldn't have come from an ordinary source. Besides, a man who can kill someone with a reputation as Greyback garners the interest of the Ministry. We would like some answers about who he is, why he killed him, who hired him and most importantly what he knows."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and fixed Ron with an intensity scrutiny that made him very uncomfortable.

"Minister Scrimgeour and I want this case to be investigated privately, Mr. Weasley. The official story would be that Aurors Moody and Shacklebolt are leading the investigation about the death of Thicknesse. Meanwhile another team of investigators will be working in secret with the muggle police about the mysterious gunman. It is decided that we will be using new faces so as not to arouse anyone's suspicion. I, Mr. Weasley, would like you to be a part of the team."

Ron was speechless. After a year of pointlessly patrolling the Heathrow airport, he was asked to be a part of a major investigation. This was something he had been dreaming about.

"Um… how will this work, Professor? If the death eaters have a mole in the department, won't they know about my mission from the records?"

Dumbledore smiled. "That won't be an issue, Mr. Weasley, because you won't be working as a Ministry auror in this case. You will be working as a member of the Order of the Phoenix. You will be taking a supposedly long leave of absence from work and go undercover as a civilian."

Ron froze. This was something he had not anticipated. Investigating as an auror and a civilian had a lot of differences. He had some form of authority and immunity while working as an auror. Working as a Phoenix agent meant that he would no longer have the support of the auror offices.

Dumbledore had a good idea what Ron was thinking about. To assuage any concerns he had, Dumbledore continued, "You will be working directly with and under Nymphadora Tonks. Also, Ms. Granger has agreed to lend her support. Besides Miss Tonks and you will be reporting directly to me and Minister Scrimgeour. So, I think you can rest any fear of not having the authority to ask the co-operation of the muggle authorities."

Ron took only a couple of minutes before he replied, "Yes, sir. I will do it"

**Meanwhile**

**Hounslow, London**

Detective Benjamin Clearwater sighed tiredly as he opened his apartment's door. His day had been tough and somehow the empty apartment made his weariness grow. Benjamin had been working as a Policeman for more than thirty years. Sadly, his wife had passed away a couple of years ago. His daughter, Penelope who was a witch, had moved out years ago and lived in Diagon Alley or whatever wizards called it. That left Benjamin alone in his three-bedroom apartment which he didn't want to sell due to the sentimental values.

Benjamin closed the door behind him but froze when he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking and felt the cold metal of the muzzle press against his temple. Whoever pointing the gun at him was experienced, Benjamin could tell. He had moved silently and swiftly making sure Benjamin never switched on the lights or see his face. Benjamin almost immediately recognised the man holding him hostage, having been treated the same way at least twice a year. He was pinned facing the wall with his arms secured firmly behind him.

"Who are you supposed to be this time?", Benjamin asked with faint amusement knowing fully well, that his life was in no danger unless he failed to co-operate.

"Jason", came the reply.

"Alright, Jason", Benjamin chuckled, "what do you want this time?"

"On the 15th, London Police raided the Duke Hotel in Soho. Why?"

Benjamin didn't miss a beat before he replied, "We had sources saying that the hotel was a venue for illegal armaments dealings. On the 15th our department got a tip-off that someone important from the weapons cartel was staying there and there was supposed to be a big trade. We raided the place but we came up empty. It seems we missed our target by mere minutes. Why do you ask?"

When there was no answer for a few seconds, Benjamin asked tentatively, "It was you, wasn't it?"

"Who was the informant?"

Benjamin replied instantly, "It is supposed to be anonymous."

"What does that mean?"

"Meaning the informant was magical. Only the senior officers who are aware of magic know this of course, but even we don't know exactly who it was."

"What else did you find?", _Jason_ asked aggressively.

"Nothing much. Couple of false identities, tracked the man to Heathrow. We are currently digging up information about all the passengers that boarded from Heathrow that day. Don't worry. The Higher-ups think you've left the country. We did arrest the Manager and couple of other workers for possession of illegal drugs and fire-arms but our offices are busy with older cases."

_Jason_, however, didn't seem to be convinced.

"What exactly was the tip off about?"

"An anonymous note which said that some big-shot of the European Arms cartel was doing business in the Duke, Soho that morning. Higher-ups suspected that the buyers were the IRS. It took us a while to get our team ready. But, obviously, you fled."

Benjamin felt the man holding him relax his grip slightly. Couple of seconds later, an envelope was thrust into his hands. Even without opening the envelope, Benjamin knew that it had five thousand pounds. His fee for the information.

"There was a murder in Norfolk, East Anglia. What do you know about it?"

Benjamin blinked for a second at the abrupt change in subject but answered, "Some guy called Fenrir Greyback was shot to death. Don't know why it has been given such priority but a lot of detectives and the best forensic teams were summoned from throughout the country. There was something odd, though"

"What?"

"The initial report said there were two victims but everyone remembers only Greyback. Chief said it must have been a typing mistake and there was only one dead man. Somehow, I don't think that's the case. We may make spelling mistakes in our reports but we don't confuse the number of victims in Homicide. Odd thing though, there was too much blood for a single victim. Also, the blood-splatter was too messy for a single victim."

_Jason_ nodded but didn't reply. Yet, his mind was working furiously. He knew he had killed two men. Even the initial police reports said so, according to another one of his informants. Then why did everyone remember only Greyback? The answer was simple – they had been obliviated but why? Who had he killed along with Greyback?

And who had betrayed him and set him up to get caught by the authorities – the police in London? Tip-off from a magical source meant that his entire trip to England was a trap but why did they want him to get caught by the police rather than the aurors?

The only logical thing was that his betrayer didn't want him to be arrested. There was no arresting him. It was to expose him. But to whom? And why?

Jason relaxed his grip. Now was not the time to think. He had other things to do.

_Jason_ shoved his gun into Benjamin's temple again. "Did you locate Sister Agnes?"

Benjamin chuckled. "Sometimes, I wonder who I work for – Her Majesty's Government or you."

Feeling the gun being shoved harder, Benjamin continued, "Sister Agnes is currently a part of a UNICEF delegation to Thailand. I talked to her on the phone."

"And?"

"Sister Agnes doesn't remember much about that night since it has been nearly twenty years. From 1976 to 1989, Sister Agnes was a nun in a church in Ireland trying to spread the Lord's words to the masses. She remembers the midnight of the 31st of July, 1980. Apparently, a local brought in a pregnant woman to the church because there wasn't a fully functional hospital in the area. The woman was no local and no one knows how she came there. She was hurt and bleeding and nothing they did could stop the bleeding. Now that I think about it, the wound must have been done magically. I remember my daughter saying something about magical wounds not responding to normal treatments."

"Wait! Did Sister Agnes remember anything else about the woman?"

"The only two things she remembers are that she was a red-head and she had the most unusual green eyes."

"And?"

"The woman gave birth to a baby-boy shortly before midnight. She died shortly afterwards due to blood-loss. The church filed a complaint with the local police and buried the woman in the local cemetery."

"Did the police find anything?"

Benjamin was uneasy as he replied, "You have to understand that twenty years ago, Irish police didn't have computers and stuff and they couldn't find anything without any other leads. There was simply no missing person reports that can be related to the woman. The case was closed a couple of years later."

_Jason_ was silent. Benjamin continued, "The boy was admitted to the orphanage run by the church. Sister Agnes says he was a handsome boy with the most polite manners she had ever seen on an eight year-old. She says that he always kept asking about his mother and how she died. The way she speaks about the boy's green eyes, I think she loved him like her own son. The sad thing is that the boy ran away when he was eight years old, probably trying to find out his father or something."

"Did you find anything else about the boy's mother? Anything about who she might be or at least where to start? Or who wounded her?"

Benjamin shook his head. "It's impossible to find anything about something that happened twenty years ago. The only thing I found out was that the woman named her son Harry before she died."

_Jason_ was silent. Benjamin tentatively asked, "You are not trying to find this Harry, are you? Seems like the poor boy lost his mother at birth and doesn't even know who he is. I wonder what he might have gone through all these years if he is still alive, that is. You're… you're not going to kill Harry, are you?"

The assailant grabbed Benjamin roughly and turned him around and plunged a syringe into his neck. The last thing Benjamin remembered later was a pair of luminescent green eyes looking at him and hearing the words, "I am Harry"


	4. Chapter 4

**THE ASSASSINATION OF TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE**

**BY**

**SERAPH ORION BLACK**

**Author notes**: Sorry for the long delay in updating this chapter. I have been busy, _sort of_, with my other story 'The King'. This story however still holds a special place in my heart because it has an element of spy-novel feeling that you don't normally get from a Harry Potter fanfic.

I hope I don't have to include a disclaimer for every chapter I upload.

First, this is not a Harry is the Boy-who-lived story, it is Neville Longbottom. What happened to Harry and the Potters is the core of the story which I will unveil in the chapters to come. The Potters are not famous or anything, so not a lot of people other than close family and friends know or remember them. Also, Harry is not a hero in this story. He is a mercenary – a professional hitman. I try to base my Harry on Agent 47 from the Hitman games. He is a killer who has killed before for money and doesn't care for reason. He is not a hero, martyr or self-sacrificing.

I haven't decided on a pairing for Harry or the idea that should he have one, for that matter. If any of you have an idea to include a pairing for Harry that is suitable to this storyline, please leave a comment in the review.

Also, there is no Ron/Hermione pairing in my story. As far as I'm concerned, that pairing was one of the biggest blunders of J. K. Rowling

**Chapter 4**

**March 20****th****, 2000**

**London, Banks of River Thames**

Ronald Weasley was sitting on one of the benches on the embankments facing the river. The sky was clear and the morning was fresh, for the lack of a word. Ron knew he wasn't the best when it came to being romantic or appreciating the beauty of nature, a fact which had infuriated Hermione for so long. He and Hermione had dated for two months in their final year at Hogwarts. But a week into the relationship even Ron knew that it was not going anywhere. He and Hermione were two completely different people when it came to their personalities.

Hermione was an academic. Often called as the smartest witch of her generation by her peers, Hermione had worked hard to keep up with that reputation. Trivial pursuits like sports or having fun with her friends never interested her. Ron, however, was a complete opposite. He was not dumb like Crabbe or Goyle when it came to academics, but he preferred to give studies lesser priority than something like, say, quidditch.

How Ron and Hermione had been best friends for seven years was a mystery, a lot of Hogwarts students would have loved to uncover. When asked, they would laugh and say that a troll in the bathroom was the best motivator for a healthy and close friendship.

Their friendship was not easy either. Hermione's drive to succeed and Ron's laid-back nature often clashed leading them to having some of the biggest rows known in Hogwarts. But somehow, their friendship weathered every obstacle thrown in their way.

Ron's musings, however, were cut short by a finger poking his shoulder. Looking up, he smiled at Hermione looking at him with a grin on her face.

"Oi, lovebirds, wrap up the googly eyes, we have work to do."

Ron looked past Hermione to see Nymphadora Tonks, grinning at them mischievously causing him to roll his eyes at her. Tonks found the dynamics of the relationship between Ron and Hermione hilarious and took every opportunity to tease them.

"Good Morning to you as well, Tonks. What are we doing today?"

Ron could see that Tonks had made an effort to mingle with the muggles. Her hair was currently brown and both she and Hermione were wearing suits like he had seen some muggle businesswomen do. He himself was wearing a suit that Hermione had picked out for him.

Tonks' expression morphed into professional in a second showing her experience in law enforcement. Young talented and completely devoted to her job, she was one of Ron's role-model in the Auror department even though he would never admit it to anyone, especially Tonks.

"We are going to the Police Headquarters. We received a call from them saying that there are some people who have some vital information for our case."

"What are we waiting for, then? Let's go"

**Trafalgar Square, London**

**March 20****th****, 2000**

Harry walked briskly amongst the morning bustle of Londoners. He needed to think and somehow walking amongst the crowd made him more comfortable assessing his situation. He had been betrayed. He was nearly caught because someone tipped off the police about his arrival. It had to be someone he trusted since the police knew exactly where to look for him, right down to his room number. He didn't believe for one second when Benjamin Clearwater had said something about an armaments deal. No, whoever tipped off the police knew exactly who he was and what he was doing. He needed more information.

His phone rang interrupting his train of thoughts. That was odd. Only one person had this number and he knew not to contact him on this number unless it was an emergency.

"Hello"

"Are you in a safe location?" The hint of panic in his voice alarmed him. He had never heard that before.

"I'm in the middle of a crowd. Do you want me to call you back?"

"There is no time. We have to risk it"

Harry swore. They never discussed anything over unsecure phone lines and they never, ever had a conversation while they were not absolutely sure they were alone and bug-free.

The man at the other end didn't waste time, "Ziggy was captured"

Harry swore, losing control over himself. Ziggy Pawlowski was a trusted contact. Information, fake id's, passports, safe houses and weapons were all available from him for a price. A premium price for sure but quality and secrecy made him an absolute necessity. If he was captured…

"We have to do something. This is a disaster. If Ziggy talks…"

"It's too late. He has been in custody for more than five days. We have to assume that he has been compromised"

"But that means…"

"I am initiating plan A"

Harry was shocked but agreed. Plan A meant one thing. Abandon everything. It had been drilled into his mind from day one by the man at the other end. It meant he would have to abandon all the contacts, bank accounts, destroy all the evidence, identities and go underground till the next pre-arranged meeting. Which was in December. On Christmas eve, no less.

Harry had always assumed that would never happen. It was a contingency plan drilled into his head that he never thought he would be subjected to. But he knew not to question the man.

"Alright, Boss. See you later, then"

"Harry, wait"

This alarmed him even more. They were not supposed to use names on the phone. It was rule number one.

"Listen to me very carefully. At this point, you have to assume that you are thoroughly compromised and the police are hot on your trail. All exits are watched. You cannot leave that country. _By any means_."

"Boss, I cannot evade them for long."

"I know. But every evidence points to that country and more particularly your case. If you want to survive this, you have to go on the offensive. Retrace the steps. Find out who set you up and what they want from us."

"What? I can't. Especially if all resources are cut off. I have no idea what I'm up against. Whoever is behind this has to be massive"

"I know but you have no choice. Whoever is behind this either wants us destroyed or something else entirely. We have taken hit after hit in the last week and I'm afraid any help from me will only lead you to danger."

"Ok. I agree but I don't have any cash and my equipment is going to be obsolete"

There was a silence for a couple of minutes but Harry waited for the man to think. Cash and weapons were vital for is survival if he was in the kind of danger he expected to be. He knew he had to dispose his current weapon to avoid giving the police any leads.

"You know the address I made you memorise?"

"Yes, Boss"

"It is a safe house I set up five years ago. No one knows about it other than you and me. I don't want you risk using it. But I have about thirty grand and some basic equipment stashed there. Take it."

"Thank you, Boss"

"Good luck, kid. I'm sorry for all this"

"It's alright, Boss. Perils of the job, I suppose."

"It is. Oh, and Harry, I know you want to find out about your past, but this is not the time. Wait for all this to blow over and you can start digging into your past again"

With that the connection broke. Harry looked at the phone for a long time. He was alone now. And in danger. He felt like he was being hunted. It was a new feeling. Something he was never used to. He was the hunter, always. His victims were his prey. At least that was what it always felt like.

Harry sighed. This was not good. He was not as experienced as the others. He had been a professional killer for less than a year and a half. He was very good at his job but he had never been in this situation before.

Nodding to himself, Harry looked around at the people around him. It was a wonder how such a sensitive conversation could be had in a crowded street like this while no one was paying him any attention.

Shaking himself out of reverie, Harry switched off his cell-phone and casually slid it into the rolled-up newspaper he was holding. Spotting something, he walked briskly dumping the rolled up newspaper and his hidden phone in the trash bin. Flagging an empty taxi, he instructed the driver to take him to the train station. He had to get to Liverpool fast.

**March 20****th**** 2000**

**Police Headquarters, London**

The cab dropped Ron, Hermione and Tonks in front of the police headquarters. Heading inside, they had to wave the id's provided to them by Dumbledore and Scrimgeour to enter the building. It seemed that the Minister had discussed the current events with his muggle counterpart and as a result, they had been provided with completely authenticated identification associating them with the Ministry of Defence.

Within minutes, they were seated in the office of the Commissioner.

David Watkins observed the people sitting in front of him. Two women and a man, all very young, were not who he was expecting. However, the events of the past week made even less sense so he chose to believe what he was told by the Prime Minister himself.

"Commissioner Watkins, you said you had some information for us pertaining to this investigation?"

David nodded slowly. "Before we continue, Ms. Tonks, I have to say that the entire investigation is completely off-the-record, as I have been instructed to do so. Also none of you work for me and the other way around, so feel free to call me, David"

Ron and Hermione looked surprised for a moment but nodded asking him to call them by their given names as well. Tonks understood what the man was trying to achieve. They were not working for either but merely co-operating on an off-the-records case. Also, they were working for the highest authorities and by establishing a friendly rapport with them, he was looking for smoother proceedings and a good word to the higher-ups if the situation was called for. He was a wise man, Tonks nodded to herself. He was doing what she would do if she were in his position.

David Watkins smiled at the people in front of him. He was expecting some snobbish, stand-offish people with a lot of self-importance at being recommended by the Prime Minister. His pride revolted at the idea of allowing these upstarts to treat him as equal. He was the Commissioner of Police with twenty five years of stellar record behind him. At least they had the decency of looking startled and abashed by the friendliness of his tone.

"Before we continue, may I ask why this investigation is given such an important priority? If I am not wrong, the man who was killed was a wanted criminal. Surely you have other reasons for bringing up this case?"

Tonks looked at Ron and Hermione for a silent conversation before nodding. She turned to the man in front of them. "David, you were briefed about the nature of this case, weren't you?"

David nodded, "If you are talking about magic, yes, I was briefed. Scared the hell out of me when your Minister gave me a demo"

"Well, David, what I'm about to tell you is classified"

David Watkins smiled in his mind. The friendliness bore fruit if classified information was being shared.

Hermione looked at Tonks anxiously wondering if they should trust in the Commissioner. Her trust in authority had been shot to hell when she found out that Pius Thicknesse was a death eater.

Tonks smiled to herself. David Watkins could be trusted. Professor Dumbledore and his leglimency skills have seen to that a couple of days back.

"The reason this case is so important is because of the second victim."

"You mean the one whom you went all mindwipe on. Why is he so important?"

Hermione answered not wanting Tonks to share all the information. "He is a vital member in our ministry personnel. His rank is something like the defence Minister in your government."

David sucked in his breath. "What was he doing in that place? In the company of a criminal no less? Was he kidnapped or something?"

Ron took over. "No, he was not kidnapped. As to what he was doing there, we have no idea. At this point, we have tentatively confirmed that he was working for the other side"

David shook his head. Now, it was all coming together. He had not been briefed on the details but it seemed as if the entire investigation was one massive cover-up. High-ranking officials working together with known criminals? The case was getting more and more interesting.

"Now, about the meeting you asked for? You said there was someone with information that we needed to see?", Tonks cut in not willing to let the smooth-talking Commissioner coax more out of Ron.

"Ah, yes, this way"

David led the trio out of his office and through a maze of corridors until he reached the conference room. Stopping outside the door, he turned to face the trio trailing him.

"We may have your meeting in this room. It is one of our secure rooms and will be available for your use for the entire day."

Opening the door, he waved them in before entering himself. There were three people already in the room huddled together. At the sound of the door, they turned towards the door.

Hermione froze in her tracks as she saw the young man sitting in the middle between the incredibly beautiful blonde woman and the handsome brown haired man.

"Viktor? Fleur? Cedric?"

**March 20****th****, 2000**

The train was pulling out of London Euston station. Harry fidgeted in his seat. The news he had received was harsh. Over the past couple of years, he had completed ten successful 'missions' – two of them in Britain. This was supposed to be his eleventh. So far he had never been in a situation where his identity was compromised. Now, he was on the run like a common criminal. He was supposed to be the elite in his field. Do a perfect job and disappear – that's what he had been taught. Authorities were not even supposed to know he existed.

But this was not the time. He had to figure out his next move if he was to stay ahead in the game of cat and mouse. He needed some answers. This entire mess started with the werewolf job. Maybe it was time he paid Edward Creevey a visit to find out what exactly he knew and more importantly how he knew to contact him.

**March 20****th****, 2000**

**Police HQ**

Hermione's head was reeling. When she was told that there were some people who had some information pertaining to the case she had never expected to see the three Triwizard champions.

She shook her head to clear her mind about what she had been told in the past few minutes.

"So, for the past couple of years, you have been working in secret for the magical branch of Interpol? And you recruited Cedric and Fleur as well?"

Viktor nodded. "I vos perfect for de undercover work. As professional quidditch player, I could haff travelled to any country without raising suspicion. When I retired last year, I started working full time but kept it secret."

Cedric nodded and continued, "Last year, Viktor contacted me and Fleur and told us all about MPI (Magical policière international) and asked us to join as undercover agents. For the past year, I have been working as a sleeper agent quietly investigating about the possible death eater infiltration in the British ministry of magic"

"And I 'ave been working as messenger between zeese two co-ordinating Cedric's investigation and reporting to ze authorities through Viktor. Seence we are friends from ze tournament, nobody bothers eef I visit Viktor or Cedric frequently and zerefore I am perfect for ze job.", Fleur continued shaking her mane of perfect blond hair distracting the men momentarily.

Ron, Hermione and Tonks shared a look and shook their heads. Apparently, the situation was far more serious than they thought.

"So, what have you got for us?", Ron prompted gently, trying hard to put aside his dislike for the Bulgarian's friendship with Hermione.

"Last Tuesday, the MPI arrested a man called Ziggy Pawlowski. He was one of the key members of European criminal underworld. He was arrested under suspicions for smuggling arms and drugs, identity theft, forgery and fencing stolen goods. During interrogation, we got a clue about one of the leading criminal organisations in the world."

Cedric took a long gulp of water and continued, "They are the world's best assassins. For over twenty years, the MPI and various law enforcement agencies have been investigating them for hundreds of murders – most of them high-profile like politicians, businessmen and rival criminal bosses. So far we have not got anything on them. Ziggy is the only real confirmation that they do exist."

"What are they called?", Tonks asked noticing where this was leading.

"We don't know. Even Ziggy didn't know. He supplied them with anything they asked for a price. Based on what we had, we conducted several raids intent on arresting some and getting a crack on the case. But every single one of them escaped or killed themselves to avoid capture."

"The only agent of that organisation we have any lead on at the moment is the one that entered Britain about a week ago. According to Ziggy, he was sent here to kill Greyback and still hasn't returned. He is our only lead to find out about this organisation, who leads it and what they do."

Ron, Hermione and Tonks sat back and pondered about what they had been told.

"This is great", Ron's sarcasm oozed in his tone "Not only are we any closer to catching this killer but we find out that he is a part of some elite assassin group. Probably well-trained to avoid capture. What exactly is the MPI's position regarding our involvement?"

Viktor shared a look with Cedric and Fleur, before he leaned forward to speak. "Ve vant to capture dis assassin alive. He holds the answers to rounding up the rest of de group. I know your ministry wants to question him about Greyback and Thicknesse. Yes, we know all about Thicknesse being found with Greyback with a dark mark on his arm. So, our superiors haff propositioned that we work together to catch this killer and interrogate him."

Ron and Hermione immediately turned to Tonks since she had the command. Tonks looked at the three MPI agents before her for a long moment before nodding. At this moment, they could use all the help they could get.

Viktor and Cedric nodded back while Fleur gave a beaming smile. Without missing a beat she turned around and let her aura flare a bit as she asked the Commissioner, "So, wat 'ave you found about 'im so far?"

Commissioner Watkins couldn't take his eyes off the beautiful woman, unknowingly entranced by her charm and spoke without hesitation. "Based on the id's you provided us, we tracked him to Heathrow before the murders happened. We also had CCTV footage from the hotel. We know he is about five foot eight tall but uses disguises so we don't know how he looks like. I had pictures of him made and circulated just in case. But, we have no idea if he is still in the country or manage to make his way out of the country"

Viktor interrupted the Commissioner, "We haff reason to believe that he is still in dis country. Dis morning, we tracked a call from a known number made to a cell-phone in London – Trafalgar square. By de time, we got there, the phone had been discarded in a trash can and the killer had escaped. We interrogated everyone nearby but nobody saw anyone dumping their phone in the trash. We have sent the phone to the labs for fingerprint and DNA analysis. But it will take time to produce any result"

"Were you able to tap that call?"

"No, they used some sort of electronic scrambler to mess our tapping"

Ron and Tonks visibly deflated at one lead being lost. They still had no idea what he looked like or where he was.

"What about the guy who paid to kill Greyback?", came Hermione's voice.

Everyone turned around to look at her curiously. She blushed under the attention but soldiered on. "Well, if we found out who hired them to kill Greyback we may get some leads on how they contacted them. It is someplace to start than sitting around waiting for something to happen."

"Hermione, there are thousands of people had the motive to kill Greyback. We can't go around questioning each and everyone of them."

"Yes, but it has to be someone magical since muggles are usually obliviated after they have been attacked by Greyback. Also, judging by the method, it couldn't have been a pureblood. They wouldn't know enough about the muggle world to track down an assassin who uses a gun to kill Greyback. I know its only a theory but this has to be connected to someone who knows about both worlds."

"Zat is true. But still there are many lives affected by Greyback. We would still have to go through a lot of people."

"Not necessarily", Hermione smiled, "These killers sound very professional and would ask for a lot of money for a job like this. Viktor, how much do you think they would charge for a job like this?"

"About one hundred to two hundred thousand pounds. They are very professional and charge a lot of money"

Hermione's excitement grew as she continued, "If we could get a list of people whose lives have been affected by Greyback and have roots in both worlds and cross-check if they have mobilised a lot of money in the past few weeks, we could find out who hired these killers"

Ron beamed at her, "Hermione this is brilliant"

Everyone in the room similarly expressed their surprise while Viktor looked at her with a hint of pride in his eyes. He knew she would make a break-through and provide them with something.

Ron not liking the look in Viktor's eyes said, "I will get a list of Greyback's victims. Then we can short-list everyone who meet the criteria"

Fleur looked excited as she said, "I can enquire in Gringotts about any large transaction made"

"And I can have our people look into our banks and records", Commissioner Watkins said eagerly wanting to participate in bringing down an International crime ring.


End file.
